Zut alors. I have shelves of books that are hopelessly out of date, but they’re technically ART BOOKS: important, expensive, cultural tomes. And what about the stuff that has been given to me over the years that should have great meaning attached to it? What if it does have meaning, and I am for whatever reason uncharmed? Or the meaning will be acquired over time?
At least I don’t have a collection of old comic books or sports cards or toys to agonize over and figure out if they’re ebayable or not.
For this place to be Virgoesque and liveable, it needs to be pretty zen-like.
OK-tomorrow everything with shoulderpads has to go.